The Firestarter
by Anakinskywalkergo
Summary: /ANISOKA/ Order 66 was five centuries ago, and the Imperials are in control with their Hunger Games. This year, a boy from the desert named Anakin volunteers as tribute - to repay a debt. To say "thank you". But now he must survive the Games with fellow tribute Ahsoka; meanwhile, rumors begins to spark, and they're all about a prophecy of some 'Chosen One'. BETTER THAN IT SOUNDS!
1. One: The Reaping

**Special thanks to my partner, Brooklynturtle, for writing this with me, feeding me ideas, and turning this probably lame idea into one that I am now thoroughly enjoying writing :)**

**WARNINGS: VIOLENCE **

**PARING IS ANISOKA (ANAKINxAHSOKA) Don't like, don't read. Also OBITINE (OBI-WANxSATINE)**

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TATOOINE (OUTER RIM, DISTRICT 12)

Hot, sandy wind blew through his hair, tossing the golden locks out of his eyes and back away from his face. Tatooine was a hostile world, only hard-core survivors ever managed to make a living in the dry desert. But there were a rather large handful that remained on the sandy world; mostly because they had nowhere else to go.

Anakin Skywalker finally managed to finish the last of the droids he had been working on. The pile of robots had taken nearly all day to complete – the time was drawing towards dusk, and as he saw the twin suns beginning to settle just above the horizon, his heart skipped a beat. He still needed to get home and change before heading towards Jabba's Palace, where the Reaping was going to be held. There had been a large fuss this year over Tatooine being the featured planet for the annual 'celebration'. Usually the Reaping was held at noontime; but because of Tatooine's unbearable heat during the day, they had been forced to reschedule the entire event.

_Too bad for them_.

Anakin tossed his tools aside, and after quickly brushing the sand of his clothing – oh, how he hated sand – he ran out of the small workshop. Watto had left for the Palace hours ago.

To be more clear, the Toydarian called Watto was a stubby, blue, flying creature that had made a deal with the Imperial Empire decades ago. He supplied the Empire with machinery parts, and in return, Watto received free labor and some pocket change.

Anakin and his mother, Shmi, were the 'free labor'. Slaves, really; but the Imperial's never call it that.

The thought of his mother's name brought back painful memories of a night, ten years ago. A pounding on the door, his father opening it. Accusations, protests, shouting. Stormtroopers accusing the man of ransacking Imperial headquarters. More shouting, a gunshot, and then his mother was a widow…

Anakin pushed the memory away, back into the dark corners of his mind where he stored all his painful recollections. He didn't want to think about the past, even though it haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

After making sure the shop was locked (Watto and the stormtroopers would punish him if anything was stolen during the night) he sprinted across the hard-packed roads, making his way towards the small hut complex on the far side of Mos Espa. It was similar to an apartment building – but it was made of cheap clay, and really only had room for two or three families. Anakin and his mother took up one part, and the other half belonged to the Kenobi family. It was quite a poverty, but then again, the entire Outer Rim lived in scarceness. They were certainly not like any of the other sectors, such as the Inner Core (District 1) or Anthrass Regions (District 3).

The air had cooled down during his run home; still, his forehead was lathered with sweat beneath the unruly waves of his hair as Anakin finally burst through the door of the hut. He had expected it to be empty; but to his shock, there was a familiar, bearded red-head sitting on the ragged sofa, looking very impatient.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Obi-Wan Kenobi pronounced, quirking an eyebrow. "Do you know it's almost six?"

Anakin gave him a queer look before walking into his bedroom, which was right off the lounge. "Yes, I know what time it is," he called from the other room. "Which is why I should ask why _you_ are still here. Shouldn't you be with Satine and Raina at the Palace already?"

"Shmi went on ahead, but she was worried you'd be late. I told her I'd stay and wait for you," was the reply. "What took you so long?"

"Finishing up work for Watto. Kriffing sleemo," Anakin added under his breath. It was a distinct fact that he _hated _Toydarians. "Ben, I appreciate you waiting and all, but it was sort of stupid of you! It'll be bad enough if I'm caught by the stormtroopers – I don't want you…"

"Just shut up and finish getting dressed. We have ten minutes left."

Anakin finally finished pulling on his dark jacket over a grey T-shirt and black, skinny jeans. Living on Tatooine, those were the fanciest clothes available. He stepped back out to where 'Ben' (his nickname for the older man) was already standing in the doorway.

"C'mon, I'm ready! Grab the eopies!"

The pair ran out of the complex and made their way to where two large eopies were lumbering around the road. Both immediately managed to swing into the saddles, and got the usually slow creatures into a swift gallop.

In truth, Anakin was surprised Ben had risked arrest just to make sure he was on time. Really, he shouldn't have been; but he still was. Kenobi was sixteen years his elder, married to a sweet woman named Satine, and had a little girl: twelve-year-old Raina Kenobi. And that was what made the surprise magnified as it was – this was the year Raina's name would be entered for a chance to go into the Hunger Games. She was within the age limit now, which was twelve to eighteen. Anakin only had one more Reaping to go – he was seventeen at the moment, and if he survived this year, he'd only have to do it once more.

There was little history on how the Reaping and the Games began – all anyone knew for sure was that it had something to do with a battle called 'Order 66' a few centuries ago, and the rise of the Empire. Ever since that battle, the Imperials were determined to prove their power over the galaxy. So every year, each District (there were 12) were forced offer up two children as tributes to the Games. The Games themselves took place in one large, customized arena in which the twenty-four tributes had to fight to the death. The last survivor was declared victor.

It was cruel.

Unthinkable.

It was the law.

Each District had to provide two children between the ages of twelve and eighteen – it could be either two girls or two boys. Which was unfair in many eyes, because if you had two eighteen-year-old boys against two twelve-year-old girls, the girls would never stand a chance.

But, once again, it was the law.

_Kriff the law_.

To choose the tributes, names were drawn randomly. How many times your name was entered had something to do with how many midi-chlorians a person had in their bloodstream. No one but the Imperials knew what these were, but you still had to do it. The higher the amount, the more times you have to enter your name.

Anakin could care less what midi-chlorians were. The only thing he cared about was the fact that he had to be 99% of the kriffing things, because this year, his name was to be entered _eight hundred times_. And next year, if he managed to get through tonight, his name would be in there four _thousand_.

That meant out of thousands of slips of paper, eight hundred of them would say _Anakin Cadron Skywalker, District 12_ written on them.

Raina Kenobi's would only be entered once. Though that was a major relief, Anakin could still see the fear etched on his older friend's face. He also saw the Palace looming in the near distance, and thought hard, realizing this was his last chance to talk to him before the Reaping began. _Because I might not be here afterwards_. By 7:00, he could be on a starship traveling to Coruscant, to be prepared so he could meet his death in some stupid arena because hundreds of years ago there was a battle that no one could even remember.

_I hate the Imperials_.

Everyone did.

Anakin's mind was abuzz with thoughts as they finally hitched their eopies to the wood fence and moved on to enter the Palace. The worst thing about the Reaping and the Games was that they were forced to treat everything like a _party_. One big celebration. Because for the Empire, it was. This was their form of entertainment. Kids killing kids. Families torn apart.

Emperor Sidious was a sadistic. Plain and simple.

When Anakin and Obi-Wan entered the main hall of the Palace, immediately, they were overwhelmed with the lights and the noise. The usually dark throne room was illuminated with thousands of colored bulbs, while swirling holograms added decoration, and loud music blared from Jabba's personal band. The room was _huge_. Every single child from all of Tatooine was within it, either on ground level or positioned up in the higher balconies, where rows of chairs had been positioned. Several adults were there as well, but only the ones who were either related to the children or from the nearest three cities. Everyone else would be watching via hologram.

As soon as the pair stepped through the doorway, a squad of stormtroopers appeared before them. Three immediately grabbed Anakin and led him towards where the other boys his age were waiting. Obi-Wan was directed to where his wife was sitting, the pretty blonde looking around desperately for her husband. Shmi was next to her.

The throne had been removed from the front of the room, and in its place was a _MASSIVE_ hologrammic projector. It was showing the flashing words SHILI and TATOOINE, which meant the second tribute would be coming from the nearby planet of Shili, which was also in the same district. Shili's Reaping was almost over, actually, and if one watched the projector, they could see that only three candidates remained.

The Empire had made it very clear that the Games weren't a bad thing (_ha, ha_) but an actual game. So they made it fun. At the Reaping, ten names would be drawn from the glass bowl. The ten kids would move up onto a staircase-like display, where they would stand as candidates. Five names would be chosen from the ten, then three, until only two people remained.

At any time a candidate could call out and _volunteer_ to be a tribute – then they would be the one to go without any more gambling. Volunteers were common in the Inner Core and wealthier Districts… While the Outer Rim had never had a single one. At least not on record, or that anyone knew about. Because the Outer Rim had only won a _single_ Hunger Games in the five hundred years they have been going on. A single one.

Which meant that any District 12 tributes certainly had no hope.

Anakin felt numb as he took his seat near the front of the room.

He didn't even bother watching the Shili Reaping, which was being projected only a few feet ahead of him. He lowered his head, and didn't even look up until he heard a roar of applause erupt from the speakers. That finally peaked his interested, and he raised his head to see a skinny Togruta girl standing on the display, with a brown-haired boy next to her. They were the last two candidates. The announcer over there, a human woman with died orange hair and _way too much_ make-up, dived her pink-painted fingernails into the bowl, and extracted the last pieces of paper.

"Ahsoka Vashee Tano! District 12!" was the name screamed into the microphone.

Suddenly, Jabba's Palace was showered in even more lights as the name, Ahsoka Tano, was flashed in the center of the room. The human woman, whose voice sounded too high to be natural via hologram, began jumping up and down as Ahsoka, the Togruta girl, was raised higher on the display. The brunette boy ran off the stage as if he were on fire.

"We have our first Outer Rim tribute! A big hand for Ahsoka Tano!"

No backstory on the poor girl. She just stood there on a raised platform, being showered in confetti as she was treated like a kriffing trophy. A few words began flickering on her platform's display screen.

Ahsoka Vashee Tano.

Sixteen-years-old.

Outer Rim tribute #1.

Everyone began politely clapping – the worlds could be punished by the Empire if they showed any defiance – as the human announcer started dictating the rules of the Games. Holograms also began showing the other three District 12 planets, all of them clapping a bit more eagerly. _Of course they are. It's not their kids being sent to their deaths this year._

_Sleemos._

Suddenly, the projectors on Tatooine were shut off, and the holograms were wheeled off to sides of the room by stormtroopers, while the band lowered their music volume a bit. With the projectors out of the way, I could easily see Jabba sitting in the front row seat.

Time for the _real_ suspense to begin.

Anakin twisted in his seat until he could see the crowd of twelve-year-olds seated across the room. There. He spotted a tiny, curly head, the color of fire. Raina Kenobi. He knew Ben's daughter like his own niece. He saw the fear etched into her features, and frowned. _But she's just one name. Only entered once. _She would be fine – Anakin allowed a rare spark of hope to light up his heart, but it was quickly snuffed out. Hope was as rare as thunderstorms on Tatooine.

There was a comical drumroll, and then, a tall, pink-skinned Twi'lek bounced onto the stage, wearing a skimpy silver dress and three inch heels. "Good evening, Tatooine! Welcome to our 500th Reaping!"

More polite clapping. I sink lower into my chair, as if I could just melt into the shadows and disappear.

_I hate my life_.

**ANAKIN SKYWALKER'S POV**

"As we all just saw, our first tribute will be Ahsoka Tano from Shili," the announcer continued. _Ugh, her voice is even worse than the human's from before_. "And now, the time we've all been waiting for! One of Tatooine's own will help represent the Outer Rim in the Hunger Games!"

The music kicked up to a faster pace, and the lights grew even brighter as the thick, leathery curtains on the stage were drawn apart, revealing that blasted display. Bleach white, with ten stands for the candidates to stand on. Then, a stormtrooper wheels out this giant glass ball, where the slips of paper are being blown around by a tiny fan inside.

Something in my gut clenches, and I bend over so that I can rest my head in my hands, which are propped up on my knees.

The music once again softens, and then I the sound of crinkling paper. The first name has been blown out of the bowl. I don't look up, but I temporarily stop breathing as I hear the first name announced.

"Amy Crystal, Age 14!"

I peek up at the scene between locks of blonde hair. I see a little black-haired girl make her way up to the display, while her stricken parents watch with teary eyes.

The Twi'lek taps a switch on the bowl's side, and another name is blown out.

"Kitster Gragg, Age 18!"

_Blast it._ Kitster shoots me a pained glance as he makes his way past me to take his place on the stage. I've known him for as long as I can remember.

I mutter an incoherent stream of profanities, directed at Sidious and his stupid Empire.

I hate them _so_ much.

"Gregor Hawks, Age 15."

"Emileen Sander, Age 12."

"Jonathan Jones, Age 18."

I can't stand the dread welling inside me. Five more names. With each slip of paper, my chances of being picked grow greater.

_Please, please not me. Please... _I don't even know what I'm praying to.

"Boba Fett, Age 13."

"Kira Morse, Age 17."

Three more places on that stand, which is filled with pained, scared kids.

"Ax Crown, Age 12."

Two.

"Roden Zynn, Age 16."

One.

One place left.

One last chance.

_Please, oh please, please not me, oh please, don't let it be me, please…_

The Twi'lek's fingers touch the button.

I see the little slips of paper flying around, and suddenly, everyone notices the sudden burst of breeze that practically hurls the last paper into her hand. Everyone sees, but I'm too anxious to care.

Please don't let it be me.

Please.

_Who am I talking to?_

And then I hear the name loud and clear, echoing across the room, sending a woman falling to the ground, crying.

It's not Anakin Skywalker.

It's Raina Kenobi, Age 12.

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	2. Two: The Thank You

TATOOINE (OUTER RIM, DISTRICT 12)

_[flashback two years]_

_A little girl raced the streets of Tatooine, a tiny bruise making its appearance underneath locks of her curly red hair as she stumbled into a small hut, tears rolling down her face._

_Immediately, she was swooped into the arms of a young, blonde woman, who looked purely horrified. "Raina, what happened?" she cried out, holding the girl close to her heart. She was about to ask "Who did this?", but it was already pretty obvious. Only the stormtroopers would raise their hand against her daughter._

"_They knocked me down," Raina whimpered, and then she held out a heap of plastic parts and crushed springs. "They broke my speeder."_

_Just then, Obi-Wan and Anakin came into the kitchen, frowning. "What happened?" Immediately, Kenobi jogged over to his family, and quickly looked Raina over. Anakin could see the older man tense as he tried not to start cursing in front of the small child._

"_Daddy, the broke my toy," Raina repeated quietly. The little plastic speeder was really the only plaything she had – toys weren't exactly a luxury in the poorer Districts._

_Anakin watched the scene play out for a few minutes, and then had an idea. "Hey, Raina," he called over to the girl who was like his sister. "I've got something for you."_

_Immediately, big green eyes were focused on him, while Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. Raina squirmed out of her mother's arms, and ran over to him. "What?" _

_She had forgotten about shedding tears at the moment, so Anakin smiled and grabbed a small, tiny gold-painted figure from his pocket. "Here, you can have a new toy. His name's C-3PO."_

_Raina squealed and smiled at the sight of the miniature model of a protocol droid. "Thanks, Ani!" She ran off with her newfound treasure._

_Obi-Wan smirked, and walked over to his friend, crossing his arms. "You didn't have to give her that, you know," he said quietly._

_Anakin just shrugged. "It was just some stupid droid model I was playing with. Doesn't matter – I'll just make a new one."_

"_She won't stop playing with it," Satine remarked, smiling a bit._

"_Besides," Anakin added. "She needs something to smile about…"_

**ANAKIN SKYWALKER'S POV**

"Raina Marie Kenobi, Age 12!"

No way. No way. No way!

She only had her name entered once! One kriffing time! How did _this_ happen?

I must've heard wrong, oh please, let me have heard wrong.

But it's Raina, red curls flowing over a dark green dress, that is mounting the stage and taking her place on one of the display steps.

I'm surrounded by ecstatic sighs of relief, and I know I should be happy to. I'm not going to the Games this year. But now Raina, who I've known since she was born, is taking her chances. If her name is picked again, she's still in. And if it's done three more times…

She's going to the Hunger Games.

The display is raised a bit, and then, it's surrounded by stormtroopers, so that no one can reach the new candidates. Raina's pale, but she takes after her father a lot now that she's older – she keeps her face straight, she's not crying, unlike some of the other younger kids. She's standing in between Kira and Boba. Boba, who I notice, actually seems to be enjoying himself.

Maybe he's insane. Probably.

I take a chance and stand up from my seat so I can look down at where my Mom and Ben are sitting. Satine is crying silently, and I can see that Obi-Wan looks like he's giving it his all to keep it together. _But she still may get out_, I tell myself, as if I could speak to them telepathically. _She may not go to the Games. One of those other kids could be picked_.

Almost as if they could hear me, Ben turns in his seat and meets me gaze. I'm about to mouth what I just thought to him when I feel a rough hand grip my shoulder and twist it back so that I'm slammed backwards, back into my seat. A moment later, and the visor plate of a stormtrooper helmet is right in front of my eyes. "Stay in your seat, kid." His voice sounds mechanical but no less threatening behind the helmet. I clench my teeth as his grip tightens on my shoulder.

Finally, he decides he's intimidated me enough, and walks away. I subconsciously rub my shoulder, and wince. _That'll leave a pretty bruise_.

Through the distraction, I've missed the Twi'lek pick out the first of the five names. But I hear it loud and clear. "Boba Fett!"

The thirteen-year-old, still wearing that stupid smirk, mounts higher onto the display.

"Jonathan Jones!"

The kid, also a Twi'lek, follows Boba.

"Raina Kenobi!"

_Oh…blast it, blast it, blast it!_ She's still in the drawing, and I feel like I'm going to choke on my own breath. I know Ben and Satine must be falling apart down below, but I don't feel like getting my other shoulder banged black and blue. Raina is everything to them. She was their precious miracle after a tragic miscarriage that left them both devastated. But that was before I had met them – Ben told me about it after Raina was born.

_But she could still get out. It's not too late. She can still get out. Still get out._

Oh, please let her get out!

Once again, I shoot the prayer to nothingness.

I don't even bother hearing who the other kids are. I see the kids whose names weren't pulled scurry off the display, back to their places, while their parents cry out in relief. I know Mom must be happy, but she's good friends with Ben and Satine too. She'll be grieving with them.

_Blast it! I have to stop thinking that! She can get out!_

It's a very good chance her name won't be picked again.

So why can't I convince myself that?

Maybe it's because that feeling of dread in my gut hasn't subsided yet.

It's almost like I can _sense_ something terrible is about to happen.

The Twi'lek starts picking out names again.

"Raina Kenobi!"

I choke, and drop my head back into my hands. Little Raina mounts the stage higher, close to tears by now. I grip my hair tightly, unable to sort through my thoughts. I think of tiny Raina, whose shorter than most her age, timid, quiet. She'd never stand a chance in that arena – the other tributes would slaughter her.

I finally tune back in, and see three kids remaining. Jonathan, Raina, and Roden Zynn. The Fett kid and others are now safe from this year's Reaping.

I have this strange buzzing sensation in my head, and somehow, I know this isn't going to end well. I try lying to myself, saying that there's no way Raina will be chosen next… But I was never good at lying, at least when it comes to being persuasive.

"Raina Kenobi and Jonathan Jones!"

As Roden runs off the stage, and I see Jonathan and Raina standing there, something in my mind snaps. There's only two more pieces of paper now in the Twi'lek's hands. Whatever one she picks, and that'll be the tribute going to the Games. No exceptions.

And suddenly, my mind flashes back to a half-hour ago, during the Shili Reaping. The rules, the rules of the Reaping… a particular one starts echoing in my mind, and I gasp.

"…_during anytime of the initial drawing can any other eligible child volunteer to become a tribute, and if it is deemed okay by the other candidates, that volunteer may enter the Games. This rule only applies BEFORE the tribute is chosen…"_

Before the tribute is chosen. The Twi'lek is fingering that last slip of paper, ten seconds remain.

I don't know what happened in those last nine seconds, except that I must've lost my mind, because when I zone back into reality, I'm standing, hand raised high in the air, and the words leave my lips before I can stop them.

"I volunteer!"

Dead. Silence.

_Oh blast, what have I just done…_

Everyone is looking at me, too dumbfounded to move or speak. I keep my eyes locked onto the stage, not daring to look down at Ben or Mom out of fear that I'll completely break down.

Finally, the Twi'lek recovers her senses. "I…um…I… What did you just say?"

I see stormtroopers out of the corner of my eye, marching towards me. I can't take back my words now, it's too late. My voice is dry and sounds cracked as I repeat slowly, "I volunteer. I volunteer as tribute."

I'm going to the Hunger Games.

More of that heavy, suffocating silence – well, silence except for the stormtroopers' boots as they grab my arms and 'escort' me to the stage. I turn my gaze to the ground, but I can't still _feel_ the shocked and confused stares that are drilled into me.

As I pass a section of adults, I hear a sound half between a choke and a sob from my right. My stomach does a painful backflip. I know that sound. It's Mom.

She made that same sound when she knelt near my father's body.

As I mount the stage, I can't the steps, just to keep my mind busy. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five_. I was five years old when Dad died; and suddenly, my dead father is all I can think about.

I'm going to the Hunger Games.

I'm on the stage, standing in front of the announcer and that stupid glass bowl with all those slips of papers.

I feel sick.

The Twi'lek clears her throat, and slowly, I raise my eyes, but not much. She's shorter than me, so I'm actually looking _down_ at her. I can see how wide her pupils are from shock as she begins to shuffle through her note cards. How can I blame her for being so stupefied? I suddenly realize that this was the first time there has _ever___a volunteer in the Outer Rim. _First time_. At least, I've never heard of one, neither has Mom or the Kenobis. I'm the first one.

In the wealthier districts, volunteers flock to the Reaping like flies to a carcass. But here? Now that I've volunteered, I can feel the confusion and…judgment…coming off of these people. Do they think I'm crazy? Insane? That I'm some kind of sick sadistic that so willingly volunteers to go and fight to the death in a giant arena, being broadcasted across the galaxy, killing kids my own age or younger.

_What have I just done?_

"Uh…um…I believe…um…I believe we have a new twist to this year's Reaping, folks!" the Twi'lek stammers, trying to get the ball rolling again. She looks me up and down, as if sizing me up. I'm underweight and skinny, but I'm tall. Much taller than that other boy, Jonathan Jones, and definitely better than Raina. I'm also pretty strong from lugging piles of scrap metal and junk around. There's no way they can deny me from taking the candidates' places.

She asks anyway. "So, I…um…I believe it is written that…uh…the candidates must agree to your…um…to your volunteering. She turns to the two kids still standing on display, and for the first time since I spoke up, I do too.

Jonathan Jones looked relieved beyond measure, and wildly began shaking his head, showing that he didn't mind _at all_.

Then I saw Raina. Her face was emotionless, frozen in pure shock, but her eyes were so wide that the pupils nearly drowned out the bright green irises. She made just the slightest noise, sort of like a whimper; but the Twi'lek didn't care. She seemed happy that the Outer Rim district _finally_ had some drama, seeing how our Reaping was usually just pushed under a rug and ignored. People would surely be watching this.

If she thought my volunteering was drama, then what happened next a spectacle to behold. It happened when she got her cheeky, happy face back on, and tippy-toed over so that she was practically leaning on me. "What's your name, sweetheart?" 

_Yuck_. I have to answer, so I reply as quietly as I can. "Anakin Skywalker." Unfortunately, she has her microphone shoved up my face, so my voice echoes and bounces off the walls.

She makes this weird, school-girl squeal, and then grabs my hand, jerking it into the air before I can protest. "We have our new Outer Rim tribute: Anakin Skywalker!"

And that's when the storm hits.

Raina, from where she was still standing on the stage, suddenly snaps out of her stupor, and comes to life, gasping and then lunging forward. "No, Ani! No, don't do it, don't do it!" She tries reaching me, but three stormtroopers block her path, and one grabs her roughly by the arm, shoving her backwards.

I, of course, make the situation worse when _I_ jump forward, trying to reach her. "Wait, no! Don't hurt her! Leave her alone!"

Raina's kicking now, still crying and screaming. The entire audience is beginning to hum with activity, and my heart panics. There _cannot_ be a riot here. I've seen what happens with those, the riots, and then the mass arrests and deaths. I turn my head and see everyone is on their feet now, many of the adults talking amongst themselves, all the children riled up.

_Oh no_.

"Everybody down!" Our head stormtrooper, a man named Rex, makes himself known from where he had been standing aside. "Get back into your seats _now_!" There's threat and anger laced with his voice, and I see his fingers tap the hilt of his blaster.

Slowly, things begin to simmer down. Raina's been shoved back into her parents' arms, and Satine is clinging to her while Obi-Wan holds them both. I lock eyes with him for a quick second, before I turn away. He's dumbfounded, relieved, panicked, anxious… so many things that I can't look at him anymore unless I want to fall apart up there on the stage, in front of the holo-cameras and most of Tatooine.

During all of this, the Twi'lek has scrounged through the glass bowl until she's found a slip of paper with my name and information on it. The stormtroopers lead me to the display, and I stand on it numbly as its raised, and then the holograms come back to life, flashing _my name_ on it.

Anakin Cadron Skywalker. Seventeen-years-old. Outer Rim tribute #2.

Behind me, the band begins playing again, while the giant hologram shows pictures of both my face and the Ahsoka girl. Then, the video flashes over to Shili, so we can see the reaction of the people there.

Every single person is gaping.

I'm pretty sure everyone in the galaxy is – it's been a _LONG_ time since District 12 has had any action worth mentioning.

The Twi'lek performer cues for the music to be lowered a bit, and then talks. "So, Anakin, before we begin all the celebrations and such, can I ask you the question I'm sure everyone is dying to know right now?"

It's not a real question, since I know I'm going to be forced to answer – so I just nod, not giving a real answer.

"Why did you volunteer? I'm assuming for that little girl?"

There's a problem with that question: I don't know the answer myself. _Why did I volunteer?_ Because I knew Raina would be killed? But now I'm about to be killed myself; and when I'm dead, what's to stop her name from being called in a later Reaping?

Why did I do it?

My mind races for an answer as I glance at where the Kenobis are. Mom is crying into Satine's arms, while Obi-Wan holds his daughter. But his eyes are boring into my own, and I know he's asking the same question.

Why did I volunteer? 

The answer is in the back of my mind, and suddenly, it comes to me in the form of a memory. Me, five-years-old, racing down an alley with a squad of stormtroopers on my tail. Starving, my father dead for a week now, my Mom in a state of depressed shock. I remember slipping on the sandy road, falling on my face. Laying there, thinking that I was surely about to die, if not from the stormtroopers than from starvation or heatstroke from the twin suns.

That was how I had met Obi-Wan. He had been there when I slipped, and immediately dashed forward and dragged me into his house, the back door leading into the alley. The stormtroopers ran past, and I was saved.

Me and Mom moved into their hut that day, upon Obi-Wan's insistence. He helped feed us, and as I grew older, I helped fix up their home, made little Raina various toys, and Mom helped with the girl. Our families helped each other, but I know I still owe Obi-Wan more than anything I've done so far to thank him for saving my life. Our lives, when you include that he saved Mom as well from starvation.

_Why did I volunteer_?

I did it as a thank you. My thank you, to Obi-Wan, for saving my life all those years ago.

I've owed him ever since?

What do I owe him?

His daughter.

The Twi'lek and everyone else is waiting for my spoken answer, so I hesitantly reply as honestly as I can.

"I did it as a thank you."

My eyes never leave Obi-Wan's as I say it, hoping he'll get the message.

He does, and I see his jaw drop a bit. He looks like he desperately needs to say something, he probably wants to protest. He'd say I don't owe him anything. But I do.

Everyone but Obi-Wan is confused by my answer, but they don't push it. Instead, the band begins a rock-like jam, and stormtroopers pour forward. The surround me, grab my arms, and begin leading me off the stage while the Twi'lek calls out, "Let's give a big hand for Anakin Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano!"

Applause is necessary. One time, the planet Naboo didn't when they were asked, and rations were cut for three months. The Hunger Games are supposed to be an actual 'game' for the Empire, so we have to treat it like a celebration. Defiance will not be tolerated.

After what's happened today, what's going on now is the icing on the cake when my ears, instead of being filled with sounds of forced joy, are met with silence.

_Silence?_

I crane my neck to look behind me, and the stormtroopers pause, mumbling angrily amongst one another. It takes a moment for the situation to sink in; but when it does, I can't believe it. The Palace is dead mute.

No one claps.

_No one_.


End file.
